


Ring Tone

by somnolentblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_bitesized, Gen, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnolentblue/pseuds/somnolentblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bobby answered the phone, and one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring Tone

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [](http://cantarina.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**cantarina**](http://cantarina.dreamwidth.org/) for betaing; all remaining errors are my own. Concrit is welcomed, and feedback is love.

**Mary Winchester, April 1983**

"Singer."

Silence. Bobby was about to hang up the phone when he heard, "Mr. Singer, this is Mary Winchester."

"Okay," he said. He racked his brain, but he couldn't remember meeting a Winchester. Maybe Rufus had introduced her during those first few months; between the Jack and the rage, Bobby had barely known his own name at that point, much less anyone else's.

"The Cleary sisters referred me to you. I have a potential problem that may need holy water, and I could use some discreet help. Can you be in Lawrence in a few days, maybe stay about a week?"

The next day, when Bobby met Mary Winchester, who was heavily pregnant, he shook her hand and didn't think about Karen.

 **Dean Winchester (and Sam), December 1990**

"Singer."

"Is your refrigerator running?"

Bobby sighed. "Dean Winchester, if you crank call me one more time I'm going to make you clean the basement next time you're here."

Bobby heard giggles, and then Dean hung up.

The next day, when Sam's young voice asked for "Peter Pantz," Bobby could only blame himself.

 **John Winchester, May 1996**

"Singer."

"You find out anything else about the Gnoph-keh?"

"No." Bobby flipped through some of his files. "But I did find that anti-poltergeist charm you were looking for. You want me to mail it to you?" It'd be a pain in the ass to hand copy it, but better than a repeat of what happened the last time the Kinko's kid had gotten a glimpse of his papers. He didn't need another dumbass showing up on his front porch asking to be initiated into the unholy mysteries.

"I'll be coming through in a week or so; it's not worth chancing the post office."

"How're the boys?"

"If I thought I could separate them without Dean pitching a fit, I'd swear I'd send Sam off with someone else this summer, give us both some space. We'll be lucky to survive his teens intact, 'cause I already want to wring his neck."

"I could take 'em for a week or two," Bobby offered. "There's an easy haunting a county over that I could use Dean as back up for, get him used to working with other hunters." The haunting would shrivel up as soon as they said _Boo_ , but Dean didn't need to know that. He'd rather not take a raw kid who might not drop when he said drop into anything dodgier; there would be time enough for the big nasties later.

The next day, when grumpy and cranky showed up on his front porch with a summer's worth of cash, Bobby realized that he'd been had.

 **Jessica Moore, September 2004**

"Singer." Silence. "Hello?"

"Hi, may I please speak to Bobby?"

"I'm Bobby," he said, confused by the polite voice on the other end of the line. Hunters tended to be brusque, at best, and no one else should have this number.

"Hi, I'm Jessica, Jessica Moore. Do you know Sam Winchester?"

"Who?" he asked, buying some time. It was early enough that if he drove straight through he could be in Palo Alto by tomorrow night, gank whatever the fuck was holding Sam hostage, and then get back in time to meet with the local zoning board on Monday. Dammit, where the fuck was Dean right now? Arizona, maybe?

"Sam Winchester, your number's in his phone, and I don't know who else to call, and please tell me you know him because I don't know what else to do and I can't fill out these forms the hospital doesn't want to operate and I don't know what else to do because the health services are closed so we can't get his information on file and please tell me you know Sam!"

"Miss, calm down, breathe a minute. In and out. In and out." He took deep breathes with her while his mind raced. If Sam was in the hospital, then admitting that he knew him could save his life. If Sam _wasn't_ in the hospital, then whatever it was that had him was probably using him as bait, but sometimes there wasn't much of a choice about walking into traps. Dammit.

"Okay," he said, trying to be soothing, although he suspected his soothing voice had been lost years ago; he'd stopped going out in the field as much because he couldn't get diddly from witnesses without freaking them out or coming off as a creepy old man. "Now, what's wrong with Sam?"

"Oh, you do know him!" she exclaimed. "Oh, thank God. He's in the hospital, and I don't know if penicillin's going to send him into anaphylactic shock, and the other two numbers in his phone, Dad and Dean, aren't working. Well, Dad's disconnected, Dean's not picking up. Okay, forms, right, information. Does Sam have any allergies to medications?"

"No," he said, mentally plotting the best route to Palo Alto.

The next day, when he found himself being hugged by a complete stranger, he introduced himself as "Uncle Bobby" and convinced the hospital he was Sam's father's brother and, therefore, had a right to visit the stupid kid.

 **Sam Winchester (and Dean), November 2005**

"Singer."

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said.

"Sam? You okay, son?" Bobby asked. He hadn't heard from Sam in over a year, not since the kid had busted up his arm. Jessica had sent a postcard with their new address, but Sam had maintained radio silence.

He heard murmurs in the background, and then Dean took over the phone call.

"Bobby, have you heard from our dad?" he asked.

"Sorry, kid, I haven't heard squat from him or about him. Why, what's up?"

"Sam's girlfriend is dead. She was on the ceiling, and she burned." Fuck. Bobby reached across the desk to grab the Johnny and poured himself a shot or three.

"You want me to start asking around, see what shakes loose?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, and then he hung up.

The next day, when Bobby started methodically calling every hunter he knew who wouldn't sell them out, he cursed John Winchester's stubborn refusal to share information and his knack for disappearing.

 **Sam and Dean Winchester, December 2015**

Bobby hit play on his answering machine, grabbed his jam jar of chocolate martini, and kicked back on the couch. He wondered what ridiculous songs the Winchesters had serenaded his machine with this year, and what kind of revenge he would have to devise come Valentine's Day.

The next day, when Bobby found two idiot hunters on his front porch, he grinned and welcomed them in.


End file.
